


Day 5. A Good Bargain

by DarthFucamus



Series: Kinktober 2018 [2]
Category: The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Blood and Gore, Breast Torture, Cults, F/M, Fetish Clothing, Kinktober 2018, Masochism, POV Third Person, Painplay, Parody, S&M, Sadism, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:31:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: Reverend Mistress Opal once more solves the infernal Woe Composition, the puzzle sphere which summons the cruel and fearsome Fornicus. For him to do her bidding, she must pay in human souls... and with her own flesh.





	Day 5. A Good Bargain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PurpleTypewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleTypewriter/gifts).



> Kinktober Day 5: Sadism/masochism.  
> Here, have some tongue-in-cheek porn of the not-Cenobites from Cabin in the Woods.

 

Tiny gears shifted under Opal’s fingertips and another shape moved into place on the puzzle sphere. On the tome lying open before her, the inscription glowed an eerie blackish purple.

Almost there. Her heart thudded nakedly under her robes. Rocking to and fro, she followed the sacred process, rotating the Woe Composition in her hands and moving another component into a specific place.

She had to do it exactly right. There were countless possible ways to solve the infernal device, whose outcomes included all manners of death, dismemberment, and torture heretofore unknown to the human condition. She sought only one in particular: the Ninth deviation.

A bead of sweat rolled down her spine beneath her covering, but not from doubt. She knew how to solve for the Ninth deviation with her eyes closed. What made her stomach shake with nerves was what awaited her when she did.

A flash of light and the queasy pop of trans-planar conduits opening propelled her fully to her feet in startlement.

A pair of men in black ceremonial gear appeared. Their voices bellowed in concert, distorted by demonic corruption.

_“WHO HATH SUMMONED FORNICUS, LORD OF BONDAGE AND PAIN?”_

Opal addressed their chiseled upper chests with mild appreciation.

“It is Opal, Reverend Mistress of the Infernal Children,” she answered, shoulders back and chin up. “Loyal servant to the Lords of Hell.”

One of the men looked at her and his fierce glare softened.

“Oh. It’s you again,” he said, dropping the demon-voice for his quite average one.

Fornicus appeared behind them in a strobing flash of dark energy from the aether portal.

“It’s the Reverend Mistress, my lord,” that minion said. “Again.”

A black, fathomless gaze regarded the situation without expression, peering between the jagged edges of the saw blades embedded in his skull. Fornicus was tall, intimidating, and certainly dangerous, but Opal just smiled and offered the handsome demon a polite nod.

“Greetings, Hell Lord. We meet once more under the sign of the Ninth deviation.”

The surface his eyes were reflective and empty, almost equine in appearance. But beneath the cold shine was the endless depths of a hell she’d only dreamed about.

The sphere jumped out of her hand as though it were alive, and into Fornicus’s waiting palm. After examining it, he gave her an unreadable glance. He turned to the male minions. They bowed and backed into the portal which closed behind them with a soft pop, leaving Opal alone with their boss.

“I wish I could be entirely excited to see you,” she said, clasping her empty hands in front of herself. “But I have activated the Ninth deviation and we both know what that means.”

She stepped forward, bold without being disrespectful and Fornicus crossed his muscular arms over his chest. Biceps bulged underneath the barbed wire, wicked points pierced his bare flesh as he flexed.

She threw the three different tufts of human hair bound with black ribbon, to the floor at his feet.

“Three souls to add to your torments. As they are enemies whose deaths will benefit me greatly, I know it incurs an additional cost beyond their souls. I will pay in pain.”

Opal untied the belt on her robe and let it fall off her shoulders. The candles flickered over her bare skin, casting it in a golden glow. Her exposed nipples hardened under his fathomless stare.

“I submit to your will,” she said, swallowing hard and eyeing his square jaw and broad shoulders. “But have one request…”

She offered her most winning smile and, stepping close, drew a finger along his bare forearm. Heavy-handed perhaps, but in her measure, necessary.

“A little kindness to sweeten your cruelty… I am a faithful follower, after all. To this point I’ve served you well, have I not?”

Fornicus watched her with an impassive gaze that made her attempts to be seductive seem silly and tactless.

Whether he chose to humor her, she didn’t know, but his decision was made all the same.

He released the Woe Composition from his grasp and it rose and hovered in the air above them. The luminescence bleeding through the cracks of its components flashed brighter.

He started by conjuring his characteristic chains, capable of immobilizing a charging bull if he commanded it. He didn’t bind her with them, though. Instead, they dangled on either side of her, inert, waiting.

Opal had to appreciate the added challenge he presented to her. She’d offered her obedience in this and he’d taken it literally; going back on her side of the bargain now would nullify the deal.

She reached up and held onto first one, and then the other. As she waited for him to make the first move, she couldn’t help but think about how she’d once seen him use razor wire to dissect a man down the center of his torso with the precision of a surgeon. Even the victim had seemed impressed by the artistry before his insides fell out.

He touched the front of her neck with his hand and Opal flinched but held still. When he squeezed, she tipped her head back, swallowing hard against his palm.

The grasp pinched her veins first, slowing the flow of blood. Her pulse throbbed in her temple and thrummed in her ears. Tightening his grip, he compressed her airway until she couldn’t breathe. Her skull pounded with trapped circulation.

As her lungs burned for air and black dots wiggled at the edges of her vision, she had to wonder if she’d miscalculated.  She had a moment of doubt regarding her chances of survival. Was the cost for this deed higher than anticipated? If he decided that her life was necessary to make up the difference, she could not stop him.

Her hold on the chains began to slip, her eyelids grew heavy, and her throat bobbed uselessly against his hard thumb.

A burning line from a phantom whip struck across her upper back and he released her throat.

She pulled in desperate gasps of oxygen. Clarity hit her with the force of an air cannon. Her fingers tightened on the chains as the act of breathing sent a surge of consciousness to her brain. Pain rippled across her spine.

The stinging itch on her bare back was worsened by the trickle of welling blood.

“Ow,” she said, clenching her eyes shut against the involuntary tears.

The first of many pains, she was sure. The soft touch of fingers stroking her damp cheek coaxed her from behind the safety of her closed lids. The black eyes of the Hell Lord looked down at her, glimmering shallowly on the surface. Dizzied still by her near strangulation, she found herself sinking beneath their endless depths.

Another lash across her back made her entire body jerk forward. Her bare breasts pressed against his leather-clad chest, nonsexual, but intimate for her comparative vulnerability. A tremor ran through her from her scalp down to the arches of her feet as he began to circle around her.

More tears spilled and her nose burned as she tried to get a grip on her physiological reactions to the pain. There was likely much more to come. Whatever he was using on her back was thin and capable of small, precise strikes. Thinking of the razor wire, she had to appreciate his choice. Elegant and vicious, reminiscent of worse punishments, but nonfatal.

Her hands ached for how tightly she held the chains. The need to impress him somehow, or to be better than all the other mortals he encountered, met the devastating vulnerability of the human nervous system.

“My lord, perhaps you should restrain me,” she said, sucking her breath through her teeth as she gathered the will to talk through the waves. “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you… I don’t have much tolerance for pain. Receiving it, anyway.”

The next strike hit her across her lower back and she arched away from it, gritting her teeth with a grunt. Irrational anger gave way to resignation. It was almost reassuring that he didn’t seem to care how much self control she exhibited. He was taking what was due, and he would take no more or less than that.

She expected more lashes of the wire. At the next touch, she flinched. It wasn’t the whip, but the Hell Lord’s fingertips from behind. He stroked along an unblemished stretch of skin, from her lower ribs to her hip. The gentle, unexpected caress ignited inflamed nerves. In response, the burning lines cut into her back dulled into a tight throb that matched her pulse, and the sensitivity on the rest of her was magnified twofold.  It was almost like a switch had been flipped.

A shiver passed over her from head to toes and gooseflesh erupted across every square inch of her bare body.

She sagged on her arms, hands were cramped from holding the chains, the joints frozen in tight fists around the links. Thus bound by her own bargain, she wiped her damp face on her upper arm.

Fornicus circled around to her front and she struggled to regain some semblance of control and stand straight, but anytime she moved, she was reminded of the raw wounds on her back. Three, now. How many more could she endure?

Exhausted thoughts buzzed in her skull. Though it felt as though this had been going on for an hour at least, according to her clock only ten minutes had passed.

Opal groaned, her eyes rolling to the ceiling in frustration. Her discomfort was nothing to the buzzsaws embedded deeply in his skull, and the bare, muscular arm forever seeping fresh red from the abrasions of barbed wire. He didn’t only bring pain, he _was_ pain. And here she was, losing it after a few minutes of being lightly choked and mildly scored with thin wire.

Broad, warm hands spread over her upper chest and dragged down to cup her breasts. Opal gasped, and took a halting breath, searching his face for his intention. Had he taken her plea for sweetness into consideration? Or was this a way of taunting her?

The Hell Lord was indecipherable as ever as he curled his fingers around the swell of her breasts and squeezed. Her nipples tightened against his palms. It was the burgeoning tightness between her bare thighs rather than the pain that nearly made her lose her grip.

He toyed with her breasts for a moment, detached and methodical, before catching her nipples in a quick double pinch. He tugged on them, then let go. The brief pain left her breasts throbbing as they hung free, and she grunted and shifted her balance. She didn’t know how much more her wobbly knees could support her weight.

He massaged her breasts, expertly lulling her into a state of unthinking enjoyment. Sharp pinches cut through the soothing strokes, nipples clamped hard between fingers and thumbs, and this time he did not let go.

Opal uttered a noise through clenched teeth. Her body contorted to follow the unrelenting pull. Her hands slid down, still holding so tightly that the chain links bit her palms like teeth. Opal didn’t let go, but the pain was shocking as he tugged her breasts until she thought her skin would tear. Moisture flowed freely down her face, tears mingled with sweat and the beginnings of a runny nose.

The tension released at the moment she was sure she couldn’t take any more. Opal fell back, swaying by her hands on the chains. Her shoulders and breasts ached as warmth flooded back into her abused nipples, and with it, feeling. The Reverend Mistress let slip an unguarded whimper. No permanent damage was done that she could see, but she would have bruises for certain.

She sniffled, taking whatever chance she had to catch her breath and regain her bearings.

She wanted to rub them, even as the residual pain made her stomach curl forward, she held fast. Though partly this was due to her joints being stuck in position like rusted hinges.

“Lord Fornicus, please,” Opal said, her voice trembling, her knees shaking. “Restrain me. I cannot hold on.”

Fornicus tilted his head as he regarded her. Then he went for her hands with his, easily reaching them and encompassing them. He peeled her fingers off of the iron chain links one by one. The act of unbending each finger was a source of minor agony unto itself, but when she was no longer supported by the chains, he held her upright by her wrists.

The Hell Lord’s gesture seemed gentle, almost, the way he cradled her upper body, and guided her down.

Down onto her shaking knees, and then with her arms forward, on all fours. It wasn’t over.

Expecting a reprieve, Opal now felt trepidation as she waited on hands and knees for what would come next. Her nipples were still on fire from his brief and harsh attentions, enough that their own weight was painful.

The first strike came from behind and landed square on her ass cheek. A loud clap on the swell of one buttock sent her toppling forward with her forearms and chin planted on the floor. It didn’t hurt so much as startle her, even so, she groaned, flooded with the fresh sensation.

The position pulled at the cuts on her back, but for the moment her tingling buttocks were the centerpiece in the spread of pain. It was almost a mercy that the Hell Lord shifted his attention elsewhere. Before the old pains could mature and set in, some new punishment became the focus.  

She pushed herself back into position and the other cheek met the flat front of his large hand. She braced against it, shoving herself back on all fours instead of buckling.

Her skin throbbed with her heartbeat where she’d been spanked. Overcome by her frayed focus being pulled in multiple directions at once, she wavered between startled sniffling and pathetic attempts to rally herself.

“Okay, alright, come on,” Opal said to herself through clenched teeth. “You’re the fucking leader of a Hell-worshipping Cult. You can do this.”

A hard surface popped across both cheeks in succession and she blurted a cry, her body shuddering by the twin impacts. This time, numbness encroached at the point of contact.

It was a blessing. She didn’t feel so bad off at the moment, certainly after the things she’d inflicted on others she had nothing to complain about. But some things were outside of her control; the way the blood seemed to drain from her face was concerning.

Her eyelids fluttered and her vision went sideways and she realized she might pass out.

Large hands stroked over her shoulders and down her sides, following the contours of her ribs and waist and hips. The careful way he held her upright until she stopped swaying, injected her with renewed consciousness.

His hands separated. One stroked down to caress her tender buttocks and the other cupped her breasts. Kneading her sore bosom, he displayed his ability to use a gentle touch.

Her body responded to the steady strokes and caresses like a parched bloom to water. The way he played his fingers over her aching nipples, and dimpled his short nails into her sore bum cheeks just enough to keep the soreness fresh provoked heat between her thighs. In this position, her arousal lay exposed to him and to the tiny currents in the air.

Opal was still in pain, but it was muted now next to the pleasure of relief. So much so, that she found herself rocking her body against his kneading, stroking hands, arching her back, holding her head up until her long hair irritated the cuts on her back.

She pressed her ass against his hand, knowing fully how ironic it was considering that he’d made it sore in the first place but wanting his touch all the same. The tickle of moisture leaking between her legs was answered by a large, warm hand cupping her groin. His strong fingers slipped between her slick cunt lips.

He touched her clit with repetitive, deliberate strokes. Engorged nerves set alight, and she forgot the burning cuts on her back entirely.

She rocked her hips, seeking more of the feeling of his fingers nudging her clit, top to bottom. He kneaded her swaying breasts with his other hand. She could hear him breathing behind and above her. Steady, calm, stoic. Unmoved and unbothered by her wanton display even as she whimpered without shame.

Opal had the general predilection toward dominance, so she had never felt this before. There was such freedom in having no control, and the pain he’d thus far inflicted only served to heighten the pleasure he gave her now. He released her breasts and drew his fingers around to her back, playing over her raw cuts with cruel deliberation, but he continued to roll his fingers over her clit with the steady and tireless persistence of a machine.

She almost didn’t notice when he grabbed a handful of hair and jerked her head back, except it made her body jolt backwards, penetrating herself on his index and middle fingers. Once he was inside her, she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her hips, sliding his crooked digits deep.

While pulling her hair taut by the roots, he plunged and stroked his fingers inside of her. Opal’s pelvis tilted and her trembling thighs slid wider. He pulled his fingers out of her to smack his damp palm across her ass. She bucked backwards, startled. Every time she thought she was in control, he showed her she wasn’t, and it was soon impossible to even care.

Her plump flesh still stung when he re-inserted his fingers, reaching deep, until he flicked her cervix with his fingertips.

The pain of her scalp and back, and even the soft jiggle of his hand against her spanked buttocks, rolled together in a prickly ball of sensation. Tears continued to seep from her eyes, but the sounds she made were in pleading for more, not in complaint.

As he manipulated her body like an instrument, Opal found herself wondering if Hell Lords could fuck, and if so, which Deviation would summon _that_ treatment. Any further thought was interrupted by a sudden and ferocious orgasm.

Opal bucked against his hand when the peak of it consumed her senses in a white hot flash of thorny bliss. Anchored by her hair, she couldn’t move far, but she forgot herself enough to ram her pelvis hard onto his firm digits, stabbing her insides with his fingertips.

She sank to the floor in a sweaty, panting heap with his fingers still inside of her fluttering cunt muscles, too tired even to care about the tickle of fresh blood welling from the wounds on her back.

He withdrew his hand, and the next she knew of him was the strong grip grabbing her waist and tossing her brusquely over his shoulder like a sack of grain. The barbed wire wrapped around his arm snagged into the skin of her thigh as he held her ass steady. In some fruitless attempt at dignity, she tried to hold onto him.

There was no dignity afforded her when he dropped her body onto her bed with a heavy bounce. She hissed when her back came into contact with the mattress, holding her sore, jolted breasts. There was no pity or sympathy in his expression. Fornicus’s gaze saw beyond her pitiful shell of flesh, his bottomless eyes perceiving sights outside of her limited human imagination.

Standing tall beside her bed, he waved his damp fingers in a short gesture. Heavy fabric slid over her feet and up her legs: her sheet and blanket, responding to Fornicus’s unspoken command to cover her.

Opal sighed and lied back. It seemed her pain had bought his services after all, and had to admit the prize was worth the scars. At least he’d been considerate enough to get her off in the process.

Her end of the trade fulfilled, the Hell Lord called into his waiting hands both the hovering Woe Composition and the locks of bound hair. With a flash of purple aether fire, the hair ignited and burnt to smoke and dust. Fornicus came to her side, deposited the puzzle ball onto her end table, and patted her lightly on the forehead.

A sizzle of void energy filled the air and made her hairs stand on end. With an ethereal chime, a tear in the fabric of her dimension opened onto a starry void. Fornicus recalled his chains, stepped through, and turned to face her.

“Nice doing business with you, Hell Lord,” Opal said, watching him. “It was, as always, a mixed pleasure.”

As the conduit closed, the tall man gave Opal a dark, dangerous look, confirming without words that he could indeed fuck her, and would. All it likely took was the correct sort of summons, and a suitable offering...

She had some homework to do. Now that some of her more troublesome foes were all about to face an agonizing end, she had some free time on her hands.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to FancyLadySnackCakes for lending her eyes, and thanks for reading. What did you think?


End file.
